Page 36 of Gemini Wicked

But this island’s crawling with all those refugees from the yacht. All those Aquarius allies.

So it really could be anyone.

In a single catlike twist, Ronin rolls to his feet. Max snarls and coils up to stand with him, shoulder to shoulder.

Vasili lapses into perfect stillness. You’d need to look close to realize he’s levitating, barely an inch above the settee. Without even trying, wearing nothing but a black silk kimono and whatever knives he’s got strapped to his sexy body underneath, he’s still the biggest badass in this domus.

Zara snatches her feet out of my lap, grabs the witching world crown, and rams it on her head. Her eyes light up with periwinkle fire and the ends of her teal pigtails start floating.

Which makes me wonder if that bauble we pinched is more than a royal heirloom.

Maybe it’s also, like, a magical artifact?

But I shove that thought in a folder to think about later, because that furtive knock—more insistent this time, almost desperate—sounds again. I leap to my feet, but don’t know what else to do. Dez and I are just the civvies, the non-combatants in the room.

Same as always.

Anyway, I’m not leaving Zara. I grab the iron poker from the fire grate and plant myself between her and the door. Racetrack stalks across the room and ranges herself at my side.

Like a comrade-in-arms. I appreciate her for that.

Zara levitates six feet in the air and orders, in the eerie reverberation of the lightning voice, “Open the door.”

“I’ll handle this. The rest of you, for the love of God, try to stay out of trouble.” Lucius gives us all a grim look and crosses the room with his measured tread.

Looking all professorial in his cardigan and houndstooth trousers, with his chestnut hair neatly tied at his nape, he pads down the little staircase to the vestibule.

Ronin and Max are right on his heels.

Zara stares after them with her eyes narrowed. I have the feeling she’s reaching out with senses I didn’t even know she had, like Ronin’s clairsentience.

Vasili takes a delicate sip of his martini and watches the stairs like a cobra eyeing a mongoose.

A rush of hushed and hurried voices flows from the vestibule. But I don’t have shifty senses, just plain old Kryll ones like the rest of my race, so I can’t make out a word.

“Well, well,” Vasili murmurs, sounding thoughtful. His icy eyes narrow, but they don’t thaw. He does have shifty senses, but he likes to keep his secrets.

“Fuck this waiting shit. Not cut out for it,” Racetrack mutters and starts for the door.

But she doesn’t get far before they’re back. All three of our guys.

But, like, with company.

The whole kit and kaboodle tromps up the stairs and pours into our great room, with Lucius in the lead.

Behind him, a tall skinny girl pushes back the hood of her Academy sweatshirt to reveal a pale freckled face, wide gray eyes, and a soft mouth that’s grim with resolve. Her bright coppery braid, which is super distinctive, spills over one shoulder.

“Oh. hey,” I say in happy recognition.

Two guys push in on either side like bookends and loom over her, all protective. These are guys I recognize from Villa Hadrian. (That’s one of the other residential colleges.) Draco’s in my Witching World Law class and pretty hard to miss. Jae’s more of a lurker, but I did a group project with him last year in Witching World History.

“Sweet fuck.” Vasili sneers. “It’s Mallory McSnicker and her magical ménage.”

“Hey, Zara.” To her credit, Mallory doesn’t get distracted by that snake. She’s laser-focused on my fated mate, who’s still floating six feet above the fray. “I know we’re not part of your harem. But we’re here to join your court. I mean, if you’ll have us.”

“God save the queen,” Draco growls in his gravelly voice and bares his teeth in a savage grin. “We’re here to join the witching world resistance.”

Chapter Seven

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